That night in the Trebizond citadel Gontran remained awake in his bed for hours, convinced he’d be trapped here forever. All he could think about was some variation of the phrase the doux will never pay me.
When he drifted off, he dreamed of getting lost in the palace and searching in vain for his reward. Priests, Venetians, mobs of paupers, and the doux himself got in his way, asked impossible questions, then forced him to read lengthy documents and sign them, but his quill broke, the ink spilled, the papyrus ripped, nothing worked, everything was impossible.
Someone rapped at his door. He opened his eyes and squinted. Blinding light made his room seem as bright as the sun. Groaning, Gontran covered his face with his arm and turned over. It felt like someone had stabbed his skull.
Not another drop of alcohol for as long as I live.
The knock came again.
“Go away,” he said.
“Beg your pardon, sir,” came a hesitant voice. “My Lord the Doux Bagrationi wishes to inform you that your full payment and two horses await outside. You may take them whenever you will.”
Gontran sprang out of bed and threw open the door to the servant. “That’s more like it!”
After grabbing his bag and his pistol-sword, Gontran knocked on Diaresso’s door. No one answered, and the door was locked. Gontran considered attempting using his high lock-picking skill to open it, but then he asked the servant for her key.
“Sir,” she said. “I—”
“Come on,” Gontran said. “He’s like my brother. It’s nothing.”
“Sir, I can’t.”
“Look, I’ll give you a nomisma. I can pay once we’re outside.”
She watched him for a moment. “One golden nomisma.”
He reached out his hand, she gave him the key, and his mercantile skill (Professional, 7/10) increased by five XP. After jangling the key in the lock, he threw open the door, stepped inside, and found Diaresso in bed with Tamar, his arm draped over her chest.
Light gleamed from the dowager’s half-opened eyes.
“Forgive me, my lady.” The servant covered her face and looked away to hide her smile. “I didn’t know—”
“It’s nothing, Theophano.” Tamar pulled the blanket over herself and scowled at Gontran, who was reaching above her to shake Diaresso’s shoulders.
“Wake up, it’s time to get out of here!”
“What?” Diaresso said.
“The doux paid us in full,” Gontran said.
Diaresso opened his eyes. “Are you certain?”
“Would I lie about something like this? Come on!”
He pulled Diaresso out of bed and helped the nude man from Tomboutou dress and pack his lute, crossbow, scimitar, and other supplies. Speechless, Theophano and Tamar watched. Diaresso looked at the latter.
“Forgive me,” he said. “I must go. But last night was…”
Tamar winked.
“So long as I live, I shall not forget,” Diaresso said.
“You’re always welcome,” Tamar said. “If you have any brothers or cousins in that country of yours, what was it called…”
“I have many brothers and cousins,” Diaresso said. “But if I tell them about you, I think Tomboutou will run out of men. They will all leave and come here.”
Tamar stretched her arms and shut her eyes. “The more, the merrier.”
Diaresso was about to leave, but Tamar stopped him.
“Be careful,” she said.
He looked at her. “I will.”
Diaresso walked back and bent over to kiss her, but Gontran dragged him into the hallway.
“Come on, ladies’ man,” Gontran said. “We don’t have time for—”
“What is this?” Diaresso shook free from Gontran’s grip, shoving the Frank against the wall. “Months have passed since I have had more than my right hand for companionship!”
“Alright, alright,” Gontran said.
Diaresso returned to his room to kiss Tamar’s soft lips. “Are you sure you do not wish to join us, my habibty?”
“You’re riding into the interior?” Tamar said. “Thank you, no. Most villages there were abandoned long ago, so pack enough food for a few months. Bring everything you need. Skythioi control everything south of the city.”
“Thanks for telling us the obvious.” Gontran pulled his friend out again.
Gontran returned a moment later and looked at Theophano. “Hey, can you lead us out of here? It’s kind of complicated. The citadel, I mean. There’s hallways and stairways leading every direction…”
Theophano nodded. Once she was outside Diaresso’s room and had closed the door, she pulled the key from the lock and placed it in her pocket. Then she walked down the stairs. Gontran and Diaresso followed.
“We have known each other for years,” Diaresso said to Gontran. “Yet at times I still feel you are a stranger to me.”
Gontran shrugged. “We have things to do. And who knows? Any minute now the people here might change their minds and decide to kill us since we know too much about their little rebellion here.”
Diaresso shook his head. “She was beautiful.”
“There’s plenty of fish in the sea,” Gontran said.
“But no fish like her,” Diaresso said. “She wore me out. She could not get enough.” He halted on one of the steps. “Another like her cannot be in this world. Perhaps I should stay.”
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“In this place?” Gontran stopped with him. “Are you out of your mind? What about your family?”
Theophano also stopped and looked back at them.
“You only mention my family when you are trying to control me,” Diaresso said.
“They aren’t my responsibility. They’re your family, remember? Now listen. You can’t stay here.”
“Is this city really so much worse than any other?” Diaresso said. “She makes it different. For her I would move mountains.”
“She’s Armenian, you know.”
“Was she? How do you know?”
“Rome’s full of ‘em. Georgians, Armenians, Saracens, Persians, Jews, Greeks, they’re all over the place here, they’re all mixed, and who can even tell the difference?”
Diaresso looked down at his crotch. “Evidently this part of me could not.”
Gontran snorted. “So do you still hate Armenians?”
Diaresso stepped down the stairs and slammed his enormous powerful hand on Gontran’s shoulder. “We are all children of Ibrahim.”
“She’ll chew you up and spit you out before you know it. Now let’s go.” He continued down the stairs, confident that Diaresso would follow.
“I regret the day I met you,” Diaresso said.
Theophano led them outside to their horses, which were weighed down with sacks of money, armor, and supplies. A stableboy—who was actually a grumpy old man named Leon—was holding the reins. He gave them to Diaresso while Gontran checked the sacks of gold.
“It’s all here.” Gontran smiled at Diaresso. “We can finally pay off our debts and free our families.”
“Bless not the day until the sun has set,” Diaresso said.
“Why do you do that?” Gontran said. “The one moment in my life things are actually going well, when I finally achieve something worthwhile, you need to bring me down—”
Theophano cleared her throat.
Gontran looked at her. “Oh, right.” He handed her a coin, then retied the sack. Theophano left, and the stableboy returned to the stables.
Gontran mounted his horse and was already urging it through the gate.
“Gontran,” Diaresso said. “What of the boy? And the princess?”
Gontran looked over his shoulder. “I never liked goodbyes.”
Diaresso mounted his horse and followed Gontran out of the citadel, into the Upper Town, then the Lower Town, until they were outside Trebizond’s walls and making their way among the houses in the suburbs and the refugee tents. All work had stopped in the mines and workshops, and now everyone with the strength to hold a hammer or a saw was either cutting down trees, turning them into beams in the sawmills, or constructing wooden apartment buildings. Those who were too weak to build were shoveling refuse into carts for transport outside the city. Gontran also spotted smiths turning molten metal into nails. Others were forging pipes to be lain in the trenches that workers were digging.
“It seems the people are finally doing what they desired,” Diaresso said.
“I wonder what was stopping them from taking matters into their own hands in the first place,” Gontran said. “The doux doesn’t seem to have many soldiers.”
“Perhaps we misunderstand the situation. The princess’s return may have breathed new life into the ranks of the decimated refugees.”
“You mean they’re the ones who are doing all this,” Gontran said. “While the doux is taking the credit.”
“It may be thus.” Diaresso nodded to a figure in the distance. “Speak of the cat, and it comes out jumping.”
Up ahead, Doux Bagrationi was walking among all this labor, holding a stylus and wax tablet while speaking with his eunuchs, who were rushing across the city or arguing with workers. The eunuchs were having a major disagreement with the blacksmiths. Diaresso and Gontran were too busy trying to escape the doux’s notice, however, to listen. He spotted them regardless.
“My guests!” He walked over to them. “Do you really mean to leave without saying your farewells?”
“We must make use of daylight,” Diaresso said.
“Ah, but of course,” Bagrationi said. “I hope you counted your money. It’s all there. Courtesy of the Republic of Venice and its extortionate interest rates…”
Gontran nodded.
“Well.” Bagrationi looked back and forth at Diaresso and Gontran. “I just wanted to thank you again for bringing Princess Herakleia home. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fully repay you.”
“You can always pay us more,” Gontran said. Diaresso chuckled.
The two merchants then urged their horses onward. Bagrationi frowned before returning his attention to his waiting assistants.
“The doux,” Gontran said to Diaresso. “More like the douche.”
“What does that mean?” Diaresso said.
“Forget it.”
While they were leaving the city, refugees begged them for food and money. Some were so desperate they grasped the merchants’ clothes and shoes. Gontran and Diaresso shook their hands off, but then brandished their swords when they came back again. Soon a few ragged, barefooted children were following them. When they had reached the city’s edge, Diaresso opened a sack and threw a handful of coins back at the kids. Gontran looked at him, then did the same, and the children cheered as they picked up the money. Gontran and Diaresso laughed. Then, however, the bigger kids started stealing from the smaller ones and running off, so the merchants turned around and made sure that every child got a coin. Gontran lost mercantile XP because of these actions.
“This is why we aren’t rich,” he told Diaresso, as the last children returned to Trebizond.
“Monetary wealth is fleeting in this world,” Diaresso said. “Spiritual wealth is all that matters.”
“Sure. Tell that to all the starving beggars here. We’ll be penniless by sundown if we give our money to every poor person we find. Then you can have all the spiritual wealth you like when you die of starvation.”
“It is sad to say, but we must be more tight-fisted with this our hard-earned lucre, else our families shall suffer.”
Soon they were riding on the paved road (called an “imperial highway”) that led through the Pontic Mountains along the Zigana Pass to a small city called Satala. This road would take them south to the Middle Sea, and allow them to return to their homes while bypassing a dangerous place like Konstantinopolis.
Suddenly someone shouted behind them. Alexios was sprinting up the hills, waving his arms and yelling for them to wait. He was out of breath by the time he arrived.
“What is the matter, boy?” Diaresso said. “Do you wish to join us?”
“He wasn’t completely useless,” Gontran said.
Alexios shook his head, still gasping for breath. “Don’t leave.”
Gontran rolled his eyes. “This again. How many people want us to stay here?”
“They need every man they can find,” Alexios said. “We need people to help us build and fight. You can’t leave us.”
“Watch me,” Gontran said. “We got what we wanted. We have our own problems.”
“Everyone has their own problems,” Alexios said. “But we have to work together if—”
“I’ve heard enough of this political shit from Herakleia to last me the rest of my life,” Gontran said. “Look, when the Romans find out what’s going on here, they’ll kill everyone—including you. So come with us. You’re a good fighter. Like you said—we can make it if we work together. The three of us, I mean.”
Alexios glared at Gontran. “You don’t care about anyone but yourselves.”
“We have families in our homelands who await our return,” Diaresso said.
“Now you remember your family,” Gontran said to Diaresso.
“There are plenty of families here!” Alexios gestured to the city behind him. “Help us build this place up—help us fight the Romans. Are these families worth less than your own? Don’t abandon us after all we’ve been through.”
Gontran shook his head. “Alexios, we can’t—”
“Fine, forget it,” Alexios said. “Watch your own backs. I guess that’s all you really cared about to begin with. You didn’t want to make a difference after all. You only wanted to help yourselves.”
He walked back toward Trebizond. Gontran felt sad, like he would never see the boy again. Memories of their adventures flashed in his mind. He wasn’t just betraying his friend—he was also betraying himself, that part of him who wanted to help people. But staying here was suicide.
“Hey, Alexios,” Gontran said.
The youth turned.
“Don’t let the farr fade,” Gontran said.
Alexios said nothing and continued walking to Trebizond.
Diaresso turned to Gontran.
“What are you looking at?” the Frank said. “You want to stay? I can cut your throat right here and save the Romans the trouble. Now come on. Knowing our luck, we’ll run into a whole legion right around that bend.” He nodded to the road as their horses began trotting again.